A Double Edged Sword
by The Real Muse
Summary: Harsh words drive a wedge between the boys during a bust. Continued on my home website
1. Default Chapter

A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD  
  
CindyR  
  
"... and now Lynn won't even come to the phone," Peter Venkman went on as though he hadn't repeated his complaint a dozen times since they'd left the firehouse. "You'd think she'd at least give me a chance to explain." He angrily tossed a long brown lock out of his eyes, then leaned forward over the passenger seat of the car, addressing the powerfully-built black man behind the wheel. "Wouldn't you?"  
  
Winston tactfully cleared his throat. "I don't know, man. I mean, we've all been smooched by Slimer before, and if she thought it was you--"  
  
"Yuck."  
  
Peter retrained his gaze to his immediate left. "You have something to say, Dr. Spengler?" he inquired sweetly, and if Egon wasn't warned by the glint in those green eyes it was only because he had woken with a sinus headache that morning and was in no mood to be consoling.  
  
"Only," the tall blond went on, not looking up from the calculator he cradled in one large hand, "that if Lynn Stacey isn't that kind of girl, then she probably isn't your kind of girl, either."  
  
"Like Wynette is all that hot," Peter shot back. "If she's going out with you, she obviously doesn't have any taste."  
  
Spengler braced himself against the armrest when Ecto slid to a stop. "Unlike Lynn," he volleyed smoothly, "who had enough taste to dump you before she got started."  
  
The acid reply was already on Peter's lips when the fourth member of the team, an auburn haired young man wearing a sand-colored jumpsuit, twisted in the passenger seat and laid a hand on his arm. "Come on, guys," the young man said in a cheerful we're-all-friends-here! voice, "there's no need to argue this early! Lynn will listen to reason, Peter. Once she understands...."  
  
He broke off with a start when Winston tapped the horn. "No, thanks!" he yelled.  
  
"He said we don't want the windows washed!" Venkman bellowed, sticking his head out the window.  
  
The shabby street denizen he'd addressed, paused before applying the filthy rag to the windshield a second time. "Get it clean," the man wheedled, his smile revealing blackened teeth. "Only a dollar...."  
  
"Don't touch...." Peter snarled, making to open his door.  
  
"Never mind. Here." Ray produced a dollar from his breast pocket and held it outside; the man was around the hood in a trice, snatching the money and heading toward the next car in line.  
  
Peter subsided, glowering. "Lousy beggar. Look what he did to the windshield."  
  
"No problem, Pete." Zeddemore pressed the windshield washer control, soon clearing away the mess the bum had made; the light changed to green and the big hearse continued on its way. "Besides, I'm giving Ecto a bath once we get back -- those kids at the school got fingerprints all over her."  
  
"I believe I explained anthropomorphism in a previous existence," Peter sighed, placing his hand over his eyes. "You know, Lynn was absolutely the perfect woman -- intelligent, beautiful, rich...."  
  
Ray gestured toward the abandoned warehouse to their right, a crumbling structure that jutted over the East River on equally crumbling supports; Winston pulled the car in front of the door and shut off the engine. "I'm sure Slimer didn't mean to spoil your date," Ray offered soothingly, reaching for the doorhandle. "He's real sorry, too, aren't you, Slimer?"  
  
Their ghostly mascot, safely ensconced on the front seat between Zeddemore and Ray Stanz himself, broke this optimistic olive branch by emitting a high-pitched snicker. "She kisses reeeeeal good," he said, forming lips several feet long and smacking them noisily. "Pretty pretty."  
  
"I'll pretty you!" Peter made a grab for the little ghost but Slimer had already dematerialized, leaving the psychologist with nothing but a handful of ectoplasm for his trouble. "I swear, when I get my pack...!"  
  
Slimer, choosing the better part of valor, sank through the floor of the car and vanished.  
  
Winston and Egon gathered at the rear, Winston applying the key to the tailgate. "Forget it, Pete," he advised, reaching in for a proton pack and handing it to Stantz, who promptly slipped in on. "We've got more important things to concentrate on right now."  
  
"Far more important," Spengler put in, rubbing his forehead. "Let's get this case over quickly; I'd like to lie down for awhile with an icepack." He withdrew a glowing, box-shaped instrument from one pocket and studied it critically. "Hmmmm. I'm getting interference from the natural ionization of the river. I'll need greater propinquity before I can effect an accurate reading of the entity we're confronting."  
  
Venkman dragged his own pack nearer the edge, heaving a gloomy sigh. "I really did like her a lot," he lamented with authentic woe. Not bothering to don his pack, he unhooked the thrower mechanism from its clip and waved it around. "Oh, Sliiiimer?"  
  
Ray snagged his wrist, having to reach around the uninterested Spengler to do so. "He didn't mean it. He didn't think...."  
  
Twisting himself free, Peter spun on the younger man, green eyes narrowing dangerously. "Come to think of it, you were the one who helped him with that stupid 'Venkman' costume!"  
  
Ray froze. "B-but that was supposed to be a joke! I didn't know he was going to use it on your date!"  
  
"That was Slimer's own idea," Winston put in.  
  
"You knew he was going to use it against me," Venkman growled, ignoring Winston and poking Ray in the chest with his forefinger. "That didn't seem to bother you, did it. Figured you'd sit back and laugh while Slimer ruined my life?" Hurt darkened Ray's sunlit amber eyes to brown; that stopped Peter in his tracks, but stubborn pride firmed his jaw, preventing him from retracting the statement.  
  
Ray's lips parted then closed tightly. Without another word he picked up a trap and disappeared into the dimly lit building, buckling his weapon on as he walked.  
  
"Ray! Wait!" Egon lifted his hand in a useless gesture, for the young engineer was already gone. "Blast. He doesn't know what he's walking into. Winston, hand me that pack." Zeddemore complied, and Egon slipped it on, his icy gaze riveted firmly on the glowering psychologist. "That was completely uncalled for," he reproved sternly. "You know very well it isn't Ray's fault Miss Stacey won't accept your calls."  
  
Resentment re-igniting now that he had a fresh -- and more equal -- target, Peter's lips drew back. "As if it's any of your business," he said sullenly, anchoring his own pack around his waist. "I know you, Spengs; you didn't have a prayer with her and now you're happy I don't, either."  
  
"You," Spengler replied with great dignity, "are an ass."  
  
"Later for you, pal." Hastily attached trap flapping from his belt, Peter stalked off, the thud of his heavy boots ringing on the old floorboards briefly before fading away.  
  
Egon cursed. "We'd better go after them," he told the exasperated-looking Zeddemore, who was stuffing a field communicator into his pocket. "I'd prefer neither one of those two idiots be the first ones to contact our target; in their present state that could be inadvisable."  
  
The black man rolled his eyes. "No one mentioned babysitting as part of my job specs. I feel more like Mary Poppins than an ex-vet turned Ghostbuster."  
  
"Hellllllo!" Slimer greeted, sliding up behind Egon and patting the top of his blond head amiably. "Gonna kiss Peter's new girlfriend, too!"  
  
Egon drooped. "Mary Poppins was an amateur," he sighed, leading the way indoors.  
  
*** 


	2. Chapter 2

The warehouse had been constructed during the Great Depression, finding its highest usage during the second World War as a drop point for airplane parts on their way to London. 74012 Hendershott consisted of one million, two hundred twenty-five thousand square feet of storage space divided between two stories and enumerable rooms and compartments, many composed of hastily added pasteboard, while the dirty water of the East River lapped pacifically against the pilings directly beneath.  
  
Ray noticed little of this deliberately, though his engineer's subconscious catalogued every feature of the facility, drawing him an accurate map in his head. He picked his way carefully through the obstacle course of forgotten merchandise, debris, cobwebs and filth, particle thrower gripped tightly in one hand.  
  
"I shouldn't let Peter get me so mad," he muttered, opting to begin his search on the far end of the building where he was most unlikely to encounter one of the others. "He doesn't really mean what he says most of the time." Reaching the outer wall, he kicked a board out of the way to allow access to a set of concrete steps. A horde of cockroaches fled the intrusion of their rotting home, and Ray stumbled backward, waiting until they had vanished into the wall before continuing his climb.  
  
The top of the staircase led to a cross-corridor dimly lit by a string of low-wattage bulbs. Ray chose a direction at random, his mind still aswirl from his argument with Venkman. Why would he say something like that, anyway? he asked himself, eyes downcast. He knows I'd never try to mess up one of his dates, especially one he liked as well as Lynn. "Oh, ick!"  
  
This last was in response to the loud crunch of a straggling insect, caught between Ray's boot and the floor. Ray grimaced and wiped the remains off on a piece of brick, eyes growing softer as the dejected image of Peter Venkman played across his thoughts. "But ... maybe he doesn't know," he went on sadly. "Maybe he thinks I did do it on purpose. Maybe...." He stopped, shoulders sagging. "Gosh, no wonder he's mad at me. He liked Lynn better than anyone he's met in a long time -- he told me so. And I had to go mess it up for him. How could I have been so stupid? I should have realized Slimer would try something like that." He smacked his fist into his thigh, genuinely upset at the thought. "Poor Peter. I wouldn't blame him if he never trusted me again after this."  
  
He stopped, head cocked toward a creaking sound from the far end of the corridor he traveled. "What was that?" he asked in a hushed voice, impending battle bringing a slight flush to his cheeks. "That could be my gooper!" Eyes beginning to glow, Ray crept closer, pausing at the half- open firedoor at the hall's terminus. Stantz took a deep breath, tensed and dived through, taking three steps into the room and stopping short. A hangar-size compartment was opened up before him, comprising the entire far side of the building. The light was augmented now by the muted sunshine streaming through a skylight in the canted roof, and revealed perfectly the prey Ray had been stalking. Two swarthy, vaguely canine shapes floated in close proximity to each other, about twenty feet from the floor and an equal distance from Stanz. The size of small oxen, they stood regarding Stantz even as he studied them in return, inhuman ruby eyes sizing up the man with all the cunning of a natural hunter.  
  
"Terror dogs!" Ray gasped, feeling his blood run cold. "Oh, gosh." The team had encountered the semi-corporeal nether-beings on their first case and several since, defeating them only through a concerted team effort. Animal intelligence controlling sheer brute strength and savagery, these creatures were ones the Ghostbusters most hated to go up against, for once provoked they were nearly impossible to stop. Ray brought his particle thrower up, fingering the firing mechanism for several seconds before letting it drop to his side. "I can't handle two terror dogs by myself," he decided, proud of himself for his restraint. "Not terror dogs. I'd better go get the guys. Sure wish I'd brought a communicator with me."  
  
Disappointment shadowed him for a split second, mingling with a healthy dose of self-preservation, before the enthusiasm returned full force. "This is so neat! We never even suspected this large of a nexus in the area! Wait'll I tell Egon!" Resigned to the delay, Stantz spun for the door, some instinct throwing him to the side barely in time to avoid the nine-foot long mass that hurtled past his left shoulder; it crashed into the half-open door, slamming it shut and blocking Ray from any possible egress in that direction. Meanwhile, the second creature circled, grunting and watching carefully while Stantz regained his feet.  
  
"Guys?" He retreated slowly until he felt the wall against his back, again bringing his thrower to bear. Louder, "GUYS!" But there was no reply; thick walls and distance muffled Ray's voice even to his own ears. He swallowed the lump in his throat and threw back his head. "Okay, you two want a fight? Well, you got one! Ray Stantz doesn't run from a couple of overgrown french poodles!"  
  
He lobbed off a shot, the bolt streaking accurately to its target. The creature yelped loudly and withdrew a step, then lowered its head and advanced two. Ray increased his power to full and shot again, this time striking its companion full in the face. Instead of retreating, it growled, causing Ray to pale. "Something tells me I'm gonna wish I'd brought some Milk Bones. Uh ... good dog?" he squeaked, preparing for the worst.  
  
*** 


	3. Chapter 3

Disappointment and righteous anger quickened Peter's stride, his long legs eating up the corridor while allowing him scant time to actually examine it's length. He cared little; his unpredictable temper was already starting to bank, resentment and a hefty dose of self-pity combining to blur his surroundings ever-so-subtly.  
  
I could'a used a little sympathy from those bozos, he thought, wandering aimlessly along a secondary aisle formed by two lines of packing crates. You'd think somebody would care that the girl I'm in love with won't even talk to me. He raised his eyes heavenward, addressing the gray-black plaster twenty feet up. "Wouldn't you?" There was, predictably, no reply, and with a disgusted grunt, Peter resumed his search, this time stooping to poke into an open carton.  
  
"Why couldn't she at least have listened?" he asked himself, hurriedly abandoning the carton after a waterbug strolled into view. "She was absolutely perfect -- that face ... those legs ... her money." He heaved a deep, appreciative sigh. If there was one thing Lynn Stacey possessed that was better than her legs, it was her bank account -- which was considerable. She was even willing to spend it. Yep, Lynn had been perfect; the woman he'd always dreamed of. And to think that it had only required one kiss from Slimer to destroy this budding romance -- and Peter's dreams -- before ever they'd had a chance to blossom.  
  
Peter sighed again, the thought of the ghostly mascot returning some of the resentment. "If Slimer wasn't already a ghost," he growled, an angry flush touching his lean cheeks, "I would'a been glad to arranged it. Wonder whose idea that Peter clone was, anyway?" A tiny smile lifted his lips on one side, reluctant amusement lightening the shadows in his face. "Well, I'll give 'em credit, anyway -- it was kind of funny. Even if it didn't look a thing like me."  
  
He turned into a little office against the outer wall; an abandoned filing cabinet lay overturned on the far side, surrounded by shards of what had once been a glass enclosure. Once inside, he paused, vacant stare fixed on the floor. But that still didn't give Slimer the right to use it on my date. And naturally Ray had to help him.... Oh, boy. Chagrin creased his features at that. Had he really accused Ray of helping to spoil his relationship with Lynn? But yes, Peter's near-photographic memory replayed the conversation for him with remorseless accuracy. You knew he was going to use it against me ... sit back and laugh while Slimer ruined my life....  
  
Peter groaned aloud at that, self-pity evaporating in a cloud of regret. One of the first things Peter had learned during his early association with Ray Stantz, was that concealed beneath that buoyant, brilliant smile lay a personality badly damaged by childhood neglect. Intelligence that often rivaled Egon's mingled with an insecurity so deep that it had taken the practiced reassurances of both Peter and Egon nearly a decade to break through. Peter closed his eyes; an absolute readiness to accept blame -- to not only accept it but to embrace it as his own -- was one of the lingering scars of Ray's youth. If that wasn't already coming into play in the young engineer's thoughts then Peter had mis-read his Ray badly. The poor kid was going to be miserable for days over this.... "And all over a woman I haven't dated even once," Peter finished aloud.  
  
Wearily he sank down on the tipped file cabinet, running a hand through his dark locks. A rat the size of a small alley cat, hearing the strange voice, emerged from its hole in the rotting wall, lifting up on its hind legs to study the man curiously. Peter, unafraid of a rat that wisely kept its distance, addressed the animal solemnly. "So what do I do?" he asked the rat. "I accuse Ray of ruining my entire life knowing full well that even Slimer didn't plan on spoiling things between Lynn and me. I mean, the spud might be a pain, but he wouldn't deliberately do me in. And it wouldn't even have occurred to Ray.  
  
"Face it, Petey," he went on, returning the conversation to himself when the rat squealed its agreement and left, "you made a royal ass out of yourself." Deciding to make locating Stantz a priority, he rose and headed for the door, gracefully hopping over a pile of lumber en route.  
  
A flight of stairs in the corner caught his attention and, after deliberating for less than a second, Venkman elected to try the second floor. "That reminds me," he finished, mind returning to the reason he was in this crumbling warehouse in the first place. "Wonder what happened to the gooper?"  
  
***  
  
Sternly ordering Slimer to remain with the car, Egon and Winston lost no time in following their younger comrades into the abandoned warehouse, their boots kicking up little clouds of dust on the filthy floor. Winston, still annoyed by the earlier altercation, kicked savagely at a broken- legged chair, reducing it instantly to sawdust. "We were all excited about taking down Boogaloo last night, but I should'a figured Pete was going to be in a mood today. One thing you don't want to do is mess with one of Pete's dates."  
  
"I rarely do," Spengler returned haughtily, poking his head into a small cubbyhole that had once been a lavatory. "Few of Peter Venkman's brainless wonders are my type."  
  
Winston nudged the taller man in the ribs. "Don't give me that, Dr. Spengler. I saw you making eyes at Monica Tate over dinner last month. And then Pete gearing into high." He chuckled. "Poor Monica got her headache awful fast that night, didn't she?"  
  
Egon smiled sheepishly. "I never said there weren't exceptions."  
  
"And if you'd seen Lynn Stacey...." Winston whistled long and low, the sound swallowed by the wood, metal and garbage piled in all directions. "Man, talk about a looker! I don't blame Pete for being pissed over this one!" Reminded, he rolled his eyes. "I can't say I'm looking forward to catching up with him; he'll probably be in a foul temper for days."  
  
"Actually," Spengler returned, his planed features betraying more than a trace of virtuous smugness, "right now Peter is ashamed of himself and contrite. I calculate that mood will last -- for the both of us, at any rate -- through tomorrow morning."  
  
Several heartbeats passed while Winston tried to make sense of that prophetic statement. "How do you figure that? Last time he was this upset, he was a bear for weeks."  
  
"Ray." Egon uttered the name sadly, with no small degree of empathy. "By now Peter has comprehended the fact that he accused Ray of helping Slimer destroy his relationship with Miss Stacey. That's not something he would have done had be been thinking clearly."  
  
Zeddemore groaned his understanding. "And the boy is gonna take it as gospel. You're right, Peter probably is feeling like crap right about now."  
  
"Not to mention how poor Ray is feeling," Egon added. "That means Peter will be spending the next couple of days trying to cheer Ray up ..."  
  
"... while you an' me spend the next couple of days trying to stay out of Pete's way," the black man finished glumly. "Swell."  
  
"Unfortunate, but true." Stopping midpoint between two passages, Egon plied the PKE meter, frowning prodigiously at the result. "That's odd."  
  
Zeddemore, close at his side, shot him a look. "What's odd, m'man? Isn't it working?"  
  
Egon didn't answer for a long moment, his brow furrowing even deeper. "There's no malfunction in the equipment, but I'm still not reading our surroundings accurately. Either that or...."  
  
"Or what?" Winston prodded impatiently some seconds later. "Man, I hate it when you do that."  
  
"Or ..." Spengler continued, waving the meter in a slow arc before them. The indicator wobbled madly. "... there are at least three separate sources of psychokinetic energy. Two of them are registering as Class 5's; one is a fluctuating energy source of variable PKE potential."  
  
"Bottom line, Doctor," Winston demanded, adding under his breath, "Where's our translator when you really need him?"  
  
"I hope he's not in the vicinity of those Class 5's," Spengler returned, answering the second part first. "The energy source could be a rather large dimensional nexus; if so, there's no telling what form of entity has come through -- or might yet."  
  
Gripping his thrower tightly in both hands, Winston peered around the large room in which they found themselves, eyes alert, every muscle tensed. "And neither he nor Peter have a communicator. Can you tell where they are?"  
  
Adjusting several dials produced nothing more than a high-pitched squeal from the gauge; full lips pursed, Egon shook his head. "There's a lot of interference from the nexus and the river making the scanning equipment unreliable from here. We'll have to search for them physically.  
  
Winston nodded grimly, striding off down one corridor in what would become a practiced search pattern of the first floor. "And hope we're not too late."  
  
*** 


	4. Chapter 4

Peter wandered the second floor for some minutes, eventually reaching the long, main corridor. He squinted his eyes against the thin haze of dust motes dancing in the air, shrugged and turned his steps in the direction of a door visible to his extreme right. Cobwebs hung like lace curtains from roof and wall, and Peter cursed softly after one of the delicate structures tangled in his styled hair, then louder when his foot passed through a rotting plank, nearly precipitating a spill.  
  
"Place should be condemned," he muttered, reclipping his thrower and using both hands to retract his foot. This done, he bounced gingerly on his toes; assured that he had suffered no injury in the mishap, he drew again and continued his journey, stepping more cautiously. The door was resolving itself the closer he got, and now stood revealed as a steel firedoor with a once-bright warning sign still visible through decades of grime. From within, a muffled thump sounded then another; Venkman froze in a listening attitude though the wall and the door itself were far too thick to allow more than these few tantalizing tidbits to escape.  
  
Undaunted, Peter smiled. "Game time. Guess Ray's gonna have to wait until I bag us a paycheck." He balanced himself on one foot and lashed out, his heavy boot catching the door squarely. Unfortunately, the door remained fixed -- Peter's foot did not.  
  
"Yeee-OW!" He hopped on his remaining member, face twisted. "Not again! I could have broken something! Blasted thing must be locked." Again testing his foot, he took a moment to adjust one of the dials on his weapon then took careful aim at the panic bar. "But I got your skeleton key right here. Wonder if we could re-patent these things for Triple-A?" He pressed the trigger, sending a hammer of highly-charged particles to collide with heavy steel. This time it was steel that gave way; the door crashed open and Peter sprang forward, clearing the threshold in a single bound.  
  
"Okay, you low-level slimeball sneeze!" he hollered by way of a battle cry. "Prepare to meet...! Ulp!" He stopped, jaw sagging at the sight of Ray Stantz, feet braced and face determined, locked in combat with what was probably the biggest terror dog they'd ever faced. Blue-white energy so bright it was painful to look upon streamed from the barrel of Stantz' weapon, slamming into and flowing around the pseudo-canine's body. The creature kept it's head up, taking the brunt of the attack full on its elephantine chest; though the sheer impact of the energy kept it at bay, still it managed to take frequent swipes at the young engineer, the distance by which it missed no more than a hairsbreadth.  
  
"Whoa! Good catch, Ray!" Peter cheered, joining his weapon to Stantz'. "Hang on while I toss a--"  
  
Ray, unaware of Venkman's presence until he'd spoken, shot a panicked glance over his shoulder, amber eyes widening to see the second terror dog closing on his friend's unprotected back. "PETER! LOOK OUT!" Not waiting for the other to act, Ray turned his own stream away from its target, managing to catch the second attacker in the face barely before it could reach Peter. It yelped and scurried backward, diving toward a point situated roughly in the middle of the room and disappearing from view.  
  
Despite his own danger, Peter's attention never wavered from his primary target; unfortunately, his single stream was insufficient at the distance to prevent the first brute from acting. A massive paw rose and extended, aimed at the distracted Stantz. Peter's bolt shifted briefly, striking the four blade-sharp claws but was unable to divert them completely from their course. They completed the arc, one talon catching Ray's thigh a fearsome blow, slicing through cloth, skin and muscle with almost ludicrous ease. His scream mingled with that of the terror dog, for it was now at an angle for Peter's beam to catch those ruby eyes. The creature leaped backward away from the approaching Venkman, still casting hungry glances at Ray, who had collapsed, blood pooling around his right leg and staining the filthy floor scarlet.  
  
"Ray?" Peter called urgently, using proton bursts much like a lion tamer uses a whip to keep the animal at bay. "Say something, kid."  
  
Stantz shuddered and turned his head in Peter's direction, his eyes literally glazed with pain. "Try-try to force it ... through...."  
  
"Through what?!" Peter demanded when the thready voice had trailed off. "What happened to the other one?"  
  
Ray swallowed, shifting until he could press his hand against the bleeding wound. "D-dimensional nexus. Try and force this one through...."  
  
Peter nodded his understanding. "Got it! C'mon, little dogie, time for the Duke to do a little round-up!" Aiming in careful bursts, Peter herded his prey backward, carefully directing it toward the nearly invisible breach in time-space through which its fellow had escaped. Maddened by the irritating stings, the terror dog wove and retreated, finally uttering a loud yelp and disappearing at a gallop into nothingness.  
  
"You did it!" Ray rasped, forcing himself over onto his side.  
  
Peter nodded, feral satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "Now to make sure it stays did," He dropped to Ray's side. "They'll be coming back any second; think we can seal that rip like we did in Hainesport last week? You up to try?" Stantz nodded and accepted the particle rifle Peter helpfully retrieved for him.  
  
"I'm ... I can set mine at full negative," Ray mumbled, staring blankly at his weapon. Peter plucked it from his fingers, twisted two dials and handed it back.  
  
"Just a few minutes longer, kid," he encouraged, casting an anxious glance at the slashed leg. Ray nodded again, bringing his rifle to bear on the head of a terror dog, peeking through the rip. Peter crossed the room at a trot, taking up a position just opposite Ray and behind the dimensional portal. "I'm at full positive!" he yelled. "Ready? NOW!" With that he opened fire, his altered stream clashing with Stantz' in the middle of the large room and over the alleged portal. The energies splattered against each other in a brilliant pyrotechnical display, while thunder and ozone filled the air like a miniature summer storm. The terror dog, wisely, retreated never to be seen again.  
  
"Time!" Peter called, releasing his trigger at the exact same moment Ray did. The nexus, no longer invisible, shimmered prismatically, wavering then shrinking until it, too, disappeared from view.  
  
Metal rifle clattered to the floor, raising a cloud of fine dust. "It's ... gone," Ray managed, dropping his head. "Thank goodness. It's gone." He didn't open his eyes when Peter knelt beside him; not until the older man began to tug at the zipper of his jumpsuit did he crack them blearily open.  
  
"Your belt," Peter explained hastily. "I need something to use as a tourniquet, and I'm wearing sweats."  
  
Ray stopped him with a touch, his voice perceptibly weaker even as the pool grew wider. "Don't ... have one. Slacks today."  
  
Peter rocked back on his heels, biting his lip. "Nothing for it, then. I'll have to get you back to Ecto fast." He unbuckled first his own pack, then Ray's, allowing them both to drop away. He then slipped a hand around Ray's shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position supported against his own chest. "Need you to help me, kid. Can you put your arms around my neck?"  
  
Barely conscious, Ray allowed Peter to position his arms, his fingers digging in tightly to the material covering Peter's shoulder and collar. Peter smiled. "Good boy. Hang tough, this'll probably hurt a bit. Think you can take it?" Without waiting for an answer, Peter slid his hand under Ray's thighs and staggered to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around the limp body. "Hang on, Ray," he begged, paling at the sharp cry this elicited. "Just a few minutes longer."  
  
Though his face was chalk white, hazel eyes regarded the psychologist reassuringly. "I'm okay, Peter. Please don't worry."  
  
"Who says I'm worried?" Venkman snorted, disdain patently false but oddly comforting nonetheless. "You're bleeding on my good uniform, is all. Just got it out of the dry cleaners, too." He paused, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. "You saved my life, buddy. Thanks."  
  
Ray sighed deeply and nestled his head on Peter's chest just under his chin. "I'm sorry about Lynn," he murmured, shutting his eyes again. "Didn't mean it."  
  
Fine lips drawing into a thin line, Peter stood for a single moment cradling his injured friend. Tenderness filled his eyes, so warm as to banish completely the street-hard persona he usually wore as a second skin. Peter turned his head until he could rest his cheek against his friend's auburn hair. "Lynn wasn't your fault," he apologized, stepping carefully through the ajar firedoor. "My temper got the better of my mouth -- again. You had no way of knowing Slimer was going to make a pass at my date dressed as me."  
  
Two field mice scurried by; Peter ignored them. "One thing I never thought I'd hear myself say. Slimer impersonating me?" He shuddered. "Didn't have anything to do with you, pal."  
  
They had by now nearly reached the stone steps leading to the lower level. Footsteps heralded the arrival of Egon and Winston, attracted by the man- made thunder caused by the closing of the nexus. "Peter! Ray! Are you-- ?" Spengler's powerful bass echoed from the high roof, cutting off abruptly at first clear sight of the laden psychologist and his close-held burden.  
  
"What happened?" Winston demanded, reaching the two first.  
  
Warm blood spilling over his gripping fingers, Peter brushed past the black Ghostbuster without a word, waiting until the breathless blond had reached him before snapping, "I need one of your suspenders. Quick."  
  
A single searching glance conveyed the reason behind that demand. Immediately, Egon dropped his proton pack and unzipped his uniform, releasing one of the brown suspenders he wore instead of a belt and handing it to Zeddemore. Using the length of elastic expertly, the ex-soldier passed it around Ray's thigh above the wound, jamming it high into a position near the groin. Ray stiffened but did not cry out; all the while Peter held him tightly, muscular shoulders braced, face pale but impassive.  
  
"That should slow the bleeding a bit," Winston offered doubtfully, staring at the blood which soaked not only Ray's trouser but the bottom half of Peter's uniform as well. "Should hold 'till we get to a hospital."  
  
Egon brushed long fingers against Ray's hair once and again, then turned a worried look at the silent psychologist. "Peter? Are you all right?"  
  
Peter forced himself back into motion, his own gaze riveted on Ray's face, half-buried in his chest. "Let's get out of here," he ordered, and if there was more than a bit of a quaver in his voice, it was soon lost to the sounds of the living city.  
  
*** 


	5. Chapter 5

"Yo! Ray! We're back!" Peter's cheerful hail rang through the building even before Ecto had slid into its nook inside the firehouse-headquarters. The outer door shut with a 'clank,' and three dirty, ectoplasm covered men jumped out of the car. "RAY!"  
  
"For goodness sake, Peter." Egon stuck one finger into his left ear, screwing his face up against the noise. "Must you bellow? Unless Ray is stone deaf, he obviously heard you the first time."  
  
"Awwww," Peter whispered, "did I hurt your shell-like little ears?" He leaned over the taller man's shoulder, a saccharine smile on his lips. "SORRY!"  
  
Spengler winced and stepped backward, nearly precipitating Peter onto the floor. "You're growing more juvenile the older you get," he sniffed, retreating to the tailgate.  
  
"Yeah, man, knock it off. You been a pain all day." Winston swiped some of the slime off his face, grimaced then wiped his hand on his jumpsuit. "You already know Ray is gonna be okay; you can stop trying so hard now."  
  
Peter stopped, his expression betraying the truth behind this perceptive statement. Ray had nearly bled to death before they'd reached the hospital, shock setting in even before they'd exited the building. It had taken the hospital two hours to stabilize his condition, then a surgeon another hour to repair the damage to his leg. Fortunately, there had been no permanent damage and now, three days later, he was able to hobble short distances on a cane before collapsing dizzily into whatever chair was handiest.  
  
Ray would survive but the experience had frightened them all badly, Peter most of all. For the two days Ray had spent in the hospital, Peter had been virtually a second occupant, telling jokes, playing Poker for gumdrops, sneaking in food and maintaining a perpetually benign countenance to one and all -- except, perhaps himself. And that, Peter had told a concerned Egon after the big blond had had to coax him to the table for the third time, was nobody's business but his own.  
  
All of this flashed behind sea green eyes for the merest instant, then his smile reappeared, brighter and more merry than ever before. "Just tryin' to cheer you up, my sour friend! Geez, what a grouch!" Clapping the black man on the back, Peter bounded up the stairs two at a time, leaving Spengler and Zeddemore the task of unloading the car. The sound of his voice raised in summons could be clearly heard as the man searched first the living quarters then the bunkroom on the third floor. It was no more than a minute later that Venkman reappeared at the top of the staircase, a worried expression replacing his cheerful one.  
  
"That's funny," he stated, descending the stairs far less quickly than he'd risen. "Slimer's upstairs taking a nap but I can't find Ray at all. And where's Janine?"  
  
Winston dropped two filled traps onto the reception desk, and glanced around puzzledly. "I don't see her coat. Ya think they went out somewhere together?"  
  
"I asked Janine to stop by Mattson's on her way in. I needed someone to pick up an order of the special spores I'm working with this week." Spengler ran a hand through his blond hair, tossing the drooping forecurl back out of his face. "Could Ray be exercising his leg?"  
  
"Yeah. Doctor said he was supposed to use it as much as possible," Zeddemore put in hopefully.  
  
Peter shook his head. "Kid could 'exercise' as far as the corner only if he crawled the last half. Something's wrong."  
  
As if on cue, the phone rang. Winston, the nearest, answered it with an annoyed oath. "Ghostbusters. Who? Oh, yeah. Just a minute." He proffered it to Venkman. "For you, Pete; some guy named Alexander."  
  
Peter frowned. "Alex-- Wait a minute, you mean Lynn's father?" Winston shrugged and Peter snatched the instrument away, holding it tightly against his ear. "This is Doctor Peter Venkman speaking. May I help you." He listened closely, mischief giving way first to puzzlement, then to consternation. "Yes, sir. ... No, sir. ... That won't be necessary. I'll handle it. Thank you for calling." He hung up, staring at the phone thoughtfully for several seconds before raising his head. "That was Lynn Stacey's father. Ray is over there right now camped on their front steps and refusing to leave. Alex said that if someone doesn't get him out of there soon, he's going to call a cop."  
  
Egon leaned heavily against Janine's desk, his angular features rueful. "I suppose one of us should have anticipated this. It would be his first natural inclination once he was again mobile."  
  
"I should have anticipated this," Peter corrected grimly. "I should have never blamed...." He trailed off, remembering too late that he had an audience.  
  
"Guess he's trying to make up for things, eh, homeboy?" Zeddemore interjected, dropping into the reception chair.  
  
Peter groaned and Egon put a solicitous arm around his shoulder. "You can't go on blaming yourself like this. Ray is much better than he was as a child and that, I might add, is primarily thanks to you. But he's still oversensitive about certain matters -- predominantly culpability; perhaps he can't help it, but neither can we. It's impossible for us to watch everything we say constantly -- not even humanly possible."  
  
Peter placed both fists on his hips, addressing his comment to the ceiling. "Maybe not, Spengs, but I should have known better than to mouth off at him over Lynn. The kid takes everything to heart whether I mean it or not." He bowed his head briefly, not objecting when Egon tightened his hold. "You can still see it in the back of his eyes, as if for a split second he's not sure whether he's going to be welcomed or trashed when I walk into the room. Frankly, boobies, I don't like it. It's too much like college."  
  
"We all lose it sometimes, homeboy," Winston told him, slapping him on the leg. "Ain't no one blaming you if you slip up once in awhile."  
  
"No one but yourself," Egon added pointedly. "Ray will get over this in a few days -- provided you do." He waited until Peter had raised his head, meeting those hopeful green eyes with a confident wink. "In the meantime, one of us had better pick him up before he gets arrested. If you'd like me to go get him...?"  
  
Peter acknowledged the kindness with a smile. "Guess I'd better handle it. If I can't talk some sense into that thick skull of his, he'll end up getting us both popped for trespassing. Or worse." He glanced down at his filthy brown uniform and sighed. "I hope Lynn isn't home. If she sees me looking like this, I'm done for sure."  
  
"Guess you'll have to rely on that natural charm, eh, Heartbreaker?"  
  
Peter preened, while shooting the black man a returning sneer. "She doesn't stand a chance." He made his way to Ecto to the tune of good- natured catcalls and hoots, the first genuine smile in three days on his lips.  
  
***  
  
Peter confronted the recessed brownstone of the Stacey family circumspectly, circling the block once before pulling Ecto to a stop in front of the closest fire hydrant he happened upon. No flashing red lights adorned the fashionable edifice, no blue-uniformed men scampered hither and yon with the Ghostbusters' worst interests at heart. Taking courage from this fact, Peter left the sanctuary of the big hearse and approached the manicured access between the hedges segregating the home from the rest of Manhattan life.  
  
"You have no right to arrest a Ghostbuster," he practiced under his breath. "Honest, officer, he just missed his medication." Pausing, he struck a pose, aristocratic nose in the air, one hand across his heart. "You do know to whom you are speaking?" he demanded in a slightly louder voice, then sighed and closed his eyes. "They'll throw away the key. Ray.... Aww, man, I got to have a loooooong talk with dat boy."  
  
Shoulders back and a forced smile painted on his lips, he strode forth again, breasting the hedges and stopping cold, his smile fading into a imbecilic gawk. Prepared for a throng of police, reporters and angry residents, he was totally at a loss when confronted with the pleasant little vista awaiting him.  
  
Lynn Stacey, clad in stylishly-battered jeans and fur jacket, sat crosslegged on the uppermost step of her home. Her beautiful face was unadorned by cosmetics, her long red ponytail draping over one shoulder and reaching nearly to her waist. She bowed slightly forward, head bent toward the second figure comprising the tableau, a fresh-faced young man with short auburn hair and soft brown eyes. Ray Stantz was positioned awkwardly, right leg stretched straight before him and sitting one step lower than the woman, allowing them to converse eye-to-eye. Their amiable tete-a-tete ceased at Peter's appearance, and two heads, one red, one auburn, rose to offer him sheepish smiles.  
  
"Uh ... hi, Peter," Ray began, clearing his throat. "We ... uh ... that is, Lynn and I...."  
  
"About the party...." Lynn climbed gracefully to her feet. "Ray's been explaining what happened -- you know, with Slimer and all? And...." She descended the steps, approaching the position in which Venkman stood rooted. "I'm very sorry, Petey. I should have let you explain."  
  
"Ugh," Peter agreed scintillatingly. He shook himself, recovering his wits with a visible wrench. "Forget about the party. I intend to pay Slimer back in spades for that one." He turned his cheek, accepting Lynn's forgiving kiss, then shrugged and offered her a handkerchief from his pocket. She was busily scrubbing slime off her mouth as Peter turned to the apprehensive-looking young man still staring from the stairs. "I figured I was going to have to bail you out of the local pen. What possessed you to try a dumb-ass stunt like this, anyway? And why aren't you wearing a heavier coat?"  
  
This last was by far the more aggressive question. Ray blinked at the non sequitur, glancing down at the light tan jacket and brown slacks he wore, then back up to Peter. "I...."  
  
"What do you think? We like paying hospital bills?" Peter donned a suitably ferocious expression and Ray relaxed, sensing familiar indulgence through the facade.  
  
"I'm okay, Peter. I could kind'a use a hand up, though."  
  
"I ought to just leave you here until Spring rolls around again." Peter left Lynn's side to move to Ray's, fitting one hand around the young man's back, allowing the other to be taken in a powerful return grasp. He hauled Ray up, letting his arm slip around the other's waist in a supportive hold. "Come on, dopey, let's get you home to bed. You're not even supposed to be out of the house yet."  
  
Ray swayed dizzily at the motion, his grip on Peter's arm tightening. "I'm okay," he repeated, finding his balance. "I just need to lie down for awhile." With Peter's patient support, he made his way down the steps, the both of them stopping in front of the waiting Lynn Stacey. "Thanks for talking to me, Lynn," Ray said, giving the woman a shy smile.  
  
Stacey patted his arm. "The pleasure was mine, Ray." She turned to Peter, who was watching her with less-than-fraternal interest. "I'm not doing anything next Saturday," she hinted coyly.  
  
Peter waggled his eyebrows, making a great show of consulting some mental calendar. "Wellllll.... I dunno...." He grinned suddenly and dropped a kiss onto the woman's forehead. "I'll pick you up at eight. On the condition," he added, sending a severe look at Stantz, "that your father hasn't had us arrested before then."  
  
Lynn giggled. "I can handle Daddy. He was more afraid of bad press than anything." She spread both hands dramatically. "'Cold-hearted head of the Stacey clan arrests injured Ghostbuster! Pictures at eleven!' Daddy dreads things like that happening!"  
  
She waved sedately as the two made their hobbling way through the concealing hedges to where Ecto waited. Once there, Peter held the door while Ray slid into the passenger seat. With Peter's help he positioned his stitched leg, only a tightness around his lips betraying the pain this must have cost him. Peter slammed the door, entered his own side, and started the engine.  
  
"Ray," he began casually. "I...."  
  
"Peter, before you say anything, I know I was interfering," Ray interrupted, gripping the dash tightly, "but I just wanted to try and patch things between you and Lynn. And I'm really sorry I messed everything up in the first place." That out, he stopped, large eyes fastened on Peter's profile, tensed for the rebuke he obviously expected.  
  
"All I was going to say," Venkman protested mildly, "was that I was glad you were able to patch things between Lynn and me." He cast the younger man a warm look, releasing the steering wheel to ruffle the auburn hair affectionately. "Thanks, buddy."  
  
Ray positively beamed. "Everything's fixed now, right?"  
  
Peter nodded firmly, renewed inner peace gentling the emerald of his eyes. "If it's cool with you, kid, then it sure as blazes is cool for me." And if the contented smiles on two dissimilar faces was anything to go by, he was right.  
  
*** 


End file.
